Two fishing poles, a feather,
a leather jacket with holes
on both elbows, forty-four
dollars and change in
an envelope, some dope,
a pair of worn out cowboy boots,
a clay flute shaped like a bird
that can't whistle a tune worth a lick,
an unused bus ticket, a picture
of two kids laughing pretending
to fly; an eyelash in my eye.

Memories much like wine spill easily
They stain the brain like a carpet
But stains are never good
Unlike memories
So perhaps they're not all wine
Just the ones that taste like you
I swear I got so used to you
I no longer cared about the stain
Deep red so you'd forever be imprinted
Because you knew what you were doing
You wanted to make sure I remembered
Every time I fell to the floor in tears
I saw the red that matched the color of my heart once you ripped it from my chest
You wanted to spill your memories on every dress, every song, every inch of skin
So that even breathing left me with a feeling of your intoxication
You didn't want to fit into any cup because you loved falling from the rim
Onto my bedsheets, my books, my dreams
And though my mother tried to teach me
I never did learn how to properly remove a stain

I could make up lots of things just to throw at you,
But this isn't a movie or a play and we won't get to do it again.
This is real and the truth is whatever look I'm giving.
I loved you and still do.
And the pain is knowing that it isn't enough.

Songs I sung and films I watched will puncture my skin,
When I recall them without warning.
The sea has receded and left me beached; the tide was too fast.
There is no plan yet for how I stand up.

I wish you well because the man I want to be would say that,
But there is a child inside that wants what is not permitted.
This facet of me is threatening the peace.
This is real and I do not wish to leave an indelible scar in the shape of a mistake.

You are the great love of my life that never was,
Neither love nor life.
Think of me; don't think of me,
Let me see you but stay out of my sight.
I don't know how this can go on from here,
But I know it is real.

I shall be destroyed.

I remember that night. I felt weird after getting home from you, and went to take a shower. I took off my shirt and saw the prints of your kisses, your lipstick stained on me, my chest. In the darkness that night I thought your lipstick was black, but then I saw in the light that it was actually a very dark tint of purple, which was my favorite color. You knew that.
     Looking back on that I feel alone. But not the sad, "just want someone to cuddle with" kind of loneliness, but the kind of loneliness mankind will most likely feel in a few centuries, having made no contact with anything extraterrestrial. Sending out its signals, only to receive silence that could break any eardrum with its volume, receiving no word that we aren't as alone as we think. Hopefully, we aren't.
Hopefully, I'm not.
Until we hear the call, the signal, we'll only hope that we aren't the only one of our kind out there.
Just like I hope.

talk

cupping conversation
in our
hands
like cool water

slipping giggles
into
pockets

caught in
the current
accepting the twists

noticing it
all

With skin the color of coffee what I wouldn't give to have a cup of her
Putting my lips to hers taking long slow sips warming my insides
Her fragrance is like freshly brewed aromatherapy healing my soul.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum

Dreams are made of chocolate huts
With burgundy windows, cherry **** doors
Sweet icing on cream layered roofs
Almond -walnut -caramel floors

Dreams are made of iris and jasmine 
Jacarandas lined in purple rows
Tree blossoms in clustered cobs
Petals that dance like a ballerina's toes

Dreams are made of fern green forests
Oakwood trees  that cast a spell 
A  gossamer web of magic and charm
The music of clinking coins in a wishing well

Dreams are made of cerulean skies
Contrails of clouds in ivory snow
Violet mystic misty mountains
A  tangerine orb riding a rainbow

Dreams are made of romance laced nights
A golden peach vanilla moon
Venus lighting, igniting,love's fire
The silhouette  of love in rain soaked June

Dreams are made of turquoise seas
Calm waters stroked by gentle waves
Or enticed by the charm of a midsummer night
Waters that heavenly Cynthia craves

Dreams are made of silk and satin
Dappled with reds, greens and blues
But the dreams that I love to dream the most
Are all the dreams made of you

I stare blankly at her back while I write words of sweet melodies that used to be the soundtrack to our lives. Her body my own personal notebook, except I've already written a bestseller with you. Her touch so beautiful but not as tender as your fingers when they danced around mine. Every aspect of her is worth loving and so I do. But the difference is I'm loving on her while I love you.